


The Chosen

by Elandil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Childish Harry, Gandalf knows more than he lets on, Legends reborn, Meddling Valar, Powerful Harry, Seer Luna, Slightly crack, also kinda dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-09-02 02:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8648959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elandil/pseuds/Elandil
Summary: For many years the tale of the 'silver city' has been passed down, its presence and the Fey who lived there long ago relegated to nothing more than myths. But when Sauron rises and the war of the ring looks set to begin again, new allies from the east will challenge these long held assumptions. Tired of Isolation, the Fey have decided that it is time to interfere once again.





	1. Chapter 1

It had been a long held belief in the lands of Middle Earth that the First race to walk the lands had been the Elves. With their long lives, magic and grace gifted to them by the Valar, it only seemed logical that they would have been the first to experience the great plains and deep woods. As such, the role of guardians of the peace seemed to fall to them... though this assumption was far from the truth.

A little known fact about Middle Earth was that, the land itself, while drastically changed from what it had once been, was not new at all.

Before the Men, Elves and Dwarves had even been created, many other races had graced its surface, living their lives upon well known lands without any knowledge that, they too, were just another link in the long chain of existence. For, you see, no one truly remembers the beginning of time, and none can recall just how many times the lands had been remade, but there are a small few, a special few, who knew that it had.

This select group were known by many names over time, 'the faceless ones', 'titans', 'angels' and many, many more. In fact, they had been believed in, worshipped, changed and reinvented so many times that even they were beginning to lose track of who they truly were. Some of them had given up long ago, simply complying to the popular beliefs of the time, some of them still clung to the old ways so hard that they had quite locked themselves out of the present world and some... well, some had fallen.

In mortal minds, the idea of a Fallen had always been one of disgrace and of darkness, but this was yet another inaccuracy, purely a product of a fanciful imagination. In truth, with every reincarnation of the world, there were always some of the chosen who had found themselves growing tired of their roles, and it was these who chose to fall. As such, before any of the creatures created for this new plain had been sent to walk the earth, these chosen would form themselves material bodies and would establish their own settlement in a hidden corner of their choosing. From here they would act as peace-keepers, ensuring that the balance would be kept between the light and the darkness. Then, at the ending of the world, if any of them truly wished it, they would be allowed to fade, after choosing a replacement from the souls of this new plain.

As it was, shortly after the creation of Middle Earth, the small settlement of Carahs hin Gahl, or 'the city of light' grew into existence. Nestled deep in a valley high up in the mountains, it was never the most accessible place, its gleaming silver towers, looking to have been carved from the stone itself, were never visible until you passed the last ridge that marked the city's boundaries and the roads leading there were difficult for even the most experienced of travellers. Still, for the first age, while the lands were mostly at peace, it served as a great place of learning, the doors to the great library open to any and all who would seek the knowledge within.

However, such things are not meant to last and a great darkness began to sweep across the land, tarnishing all it touched. Fearing the damage that their knowledge could cause if it fell into the wrong hands, the leaders of the now great city withdrew from the rest of the world, and the gates were shut.

For many long years they remained as such, and without the constant flow of information, the stories of the 'silver city' soon fell into the shadow of legend until only the eldest amongst the living still remembered the truth to these tales. Instead of commanding the respect and awe that had once been the accepted due of the settlement, these stories became the wistful fantasies of scholars and children across the land, each of them dreaming of either the great knowledge locked in their vaults or the very presence of the Fey Courts that ruled there. And this was how the legacy of the chosen remained... until there came a time of a battle that would truly decide the fate of this world.

*LINE*LINE*LINE*

Deep in the rough stoned catacombs, a young woman paused, her body freezing mid motion as her silver eyes gazed blankly into nothing. Around her, her deep blue gown seemed to shift in a wind that blew only for her, dancing around her slight frame and pulling on her pale blond hair until it danced around her frozen face. Behind her eyes images stormed, battering each other in an attempt to gain her full attention.

A field of bodies bathed red in the setting sun.

The blood stained pennant of a proud horse on a torn background.

A burning eye that made her very soul freeze in terror from the sheer malice it projected. And worst of all, a white tree... it was burning.

For several long seconds she remained there, unmoving but for the hands that trembled by her sides. However, a second later her head snapped round and she began to race back up the steps that she had only just descended. She had to reach the council chamber and inform them of this new development for, at the very centre of these visions shone the image of her age-old friend, the young prince. With his raven locks and shining eyes, both darkened and marred by the familiar pain of war.

The time for detached observation was ending... and the time for them to interfere would soon begin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things are explained and Harry is the Chosen One... again.

When he had first been offered his place amongst the chosen at the end of the final battle so many life times ago, he had not actually been surprised. His life had not been normal by any stretch of the imagination, so what was one more strange event?

When they had first presented themselves to him, he had been exhausted and looking for just one moments peace, something that had been completely impossible for the last 3, nearly 4 years. Since his fourth year and the resurrection of his worst enemy, the child known as Harry Potter had been dragged into a new world once again. Only, this time, it was not a happy occurrence. The world of war was never pleasant no matter who experienced it.

In the time that follow, he and those loyal to him had formed the ranks of the army of light and they had fought valiantly, but in the end, they were only children. He could still remember the countless battles, even after so much time had passed, could still clearly pinpoint each failure that had lead to the death of a friend. Cedric had only been the beginning.

Ginny had been killed in a raid of the fallen ministry, taken down by a 'snatcher' as she covered the escape of the rest of her team. The Patils had been cut down in Bristol when evacuating civilians. Seamus in Cornwall, Terry Boot in Limerick when the fighting had spread to Ireland. All of them fought, and, in the end, all but a few of them had died.

It had only been in the last year of the war, after Harry's 17th birthday, that they had found out about the Horcruxes, when they had finally managed to pull Dumbledore from the coma he had fallen into near the beginning of the fighting, curtsey of the Lestranges, only for him to succumb to his age and the injuries only a short while later. From there they had had to work quickly, forced to split their focus even further in an attempt to remove these tethers so that the Dark lord could truly be killed, as a result, even more had been lost.

At the end of the battle, the only ones left standing in a world turned to ash were Harry, Hermione, Luna, Snape and a rather distraught Fred Weasley. They had won the battle, but ultimately lost the war. After all, what use was a victory in a world that was doomed to die? It had been a bitter sweet moment, and none had had the heart to even think about where they would go from that point on. Until the figures wreathed in light had appeared before them.

How ironic that they had been Centaurs. Hidden all of this time in plain sight.

It was here that they had all been offered the chance for another life, to take the empty places amongst the Chosen few. Everything had been explained to them at that point, though he hadn't really understood the true depth of the offer at the time. He was actually pretty sure that Snape had been the only one to see the offer for what it was, and he was the only one to turn it down, choosing instead to die a mortal death alongside their world.

It had been a sad day for all of them, having to say a final goodbye to the man who had taken them under his wing so long ago, revealing his true colours to aid them in their fight, but it had also been the start of their new lives, and as such it had been a time filled with excitement for them all.

After this, events seemed to merge together in his mind. He had lived too long, and seen change so many times that nothing truly felt different any more. While at first everything had shone with the light of the unknown, the attraction of something that was completely new, that allure had slowly faded, and now it was just a tedious and drawn out existence that stretched before him and, finally, he had reached the point where he just could not face any more cycles. It was for this reason that he now found himself perched on the ledge of the highest tower in a mortal (immortal) city, icy wind ruffling his hair as it hung around his face, keen eyes searching out any and all movement in the world below him.

For this new incarnation of the world, the fallen had chosen to base themselves high up into the mountains, and it was something that greatly amused him. He had always felt more comfortable in high places, in fact, back home, Olorin had often joked that he should have been born with wings instead of arms. But the wise old spirit was not here now, and he would probably never see him again, and this thought was enough to wipe the smirk from his lips.

It had not been a light decision to fall and though he was still sure that his choice would remain the same at the end of these trials, there were still several things he would miss, many people he would regret leaving...

Trying to pull himself from such morbid thoughts, he pushed himself closer to the ledge, watching as his feet dangled into the abyss. If he jumped from here, the fall wouldn't kill him, not like it would for any of the other races, but it would probably still hurt immensely. When they had designed their material bodies, the bodies of the Fey, they had made them far more durable than any of the other mortals, but 20ft was still pushing it...

Spotting a familiar head of red-gold hair racing sure-footed towards his position, he took another look at the drop below him and decided to risk it. Pitching forwards from his previous seat, he allowed himself to fall forwards into the waiting night air, laughing breathlessly as he felt the wind whip around him. It was a truly exhilarating feeling, and for a moment, he allowed it to completely consume him. However, mere seconds before he would have collided with the paved street below, a hand snapped out and latched onto the thin branch of an ancient apple tree that was growing in the courtyard. The contact was only brief and had gouged several flecks of skin from his palm, but it had been enough to ensure that his landing was as soft as a whisper in front of the startled visage of his friend.

"Honestly Callon, if you don't stop pulling stunts like that, one of them will kill you... and then where would we be?"

The words from the elder male in front of him were chiding, and his expression bore one of extreme shock, but it was the bright gleam in ice blue eyes that gave his friend away. Such acts were not uncommon for Once-Harry, Now-Callon. With the life span of an immortal, one soon learnt to take their thrills where ever they could, or, they did if they were a certain green eyed spirit with a penchant for disasters. It was the only way to keep away... no, he wasn't going to think about that.

"Oh, I don't know... feasting in the great halls of the Citadel? Come on Glindir, you know as well as I do that it will take more than a little fall to rid you off me!"

Although he was still around 2 heads shorter than his friend, something that had remained constant throughout their many life times (much to Callon's ire), the younger still managed to send a cocky smirk up into the space he expected his friend's face to be. It truly had grown dark while he had been lost in his thoughts... he really should fix his habit of brooding, some paths of the mind were not wise to wander down.

"Be that as it may little one, I am still sure that your parents would not be pleased to hear of your little 'tricks'."

These were enough to elicit a childish pout from the younger who's hands twitched towards the concealed blades that the other knew to be sheathed in his sleeves

.

"You wouldn't dare..."

It was the response of a youngling, he was well aware of that, but it was also one of the benefits of this new manifestation. In this new life he had parents, a loving family that ensured that there was no reason for him to act beyond his physical years, something that had frozen shortly before his 18th mortal birthday, rendering him eternally a child. At first this had annoyed him greatly, but over time he had discovered just how liberating such a condition could be, and had taken to it with an enthusiasm that astounded those around him. Unfortunately, it had not done much for his attention span.

"Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn't, but that doesn't change the fact that they are looking for you, which is why I was sent out to find you in the first place."

Before the sentence had even been finished, the shorter of the two was off and running towards the citadel at the very centre of the city that housed the hall of kings, as well as the great library. Left alone in the courtyard, Glindir could only shake his head in amusement. Despite the many years since they had first walked upon the land of Middle Earth, he still could not overcome his shock at the sheer amount of energy Callon possessed here. As Harry he had always had a sombre bearing and he was glad to see this finally fade. It was only a pity that such freedom should come so close to the end.

*Line*Line*Line*

Shifting quickly from foot to foot, Callon waited rather impatiently at the door to the hall of kings, counting down the seconds until he was allowed to enter. He wasn't used to this.

Normally, given his status as 'prince', he would be allowed access whenever he wanted, yet today he had been told by the attendant that he must wait to be granted an audience. It wasn't that he minded being treated like a normal member of the city, he would much rather have it that way in most other situations, it was just that... this had never happened before, and it was making him feel nervous in a way that he hated.

Hoping to find some form of peace before presenting himself to his 'parents', the young man forced his body into stillness and took a deep breath, reaching out with his mind to tap into the energy that pulsed throughout all living things on middle earth... only for his eyes to snap open in shock a fraction of a second later. Instead of the normal calm that had always greeted his gentle probe, he had been surrounded by a shifting current that sought to drown him, or pull him in deeper, he did not know which for he pulled back too quickly. What he had been able to sense however, had been a dark tint that he had not felt for the longest time...

As it was, when he was finally granted entrance into the hall, it was a deeply thrown young man who forced himself to traverse the distance to the thrones before him. Of all the things that could upset the life energies in such away, none of them were good.

"Father. Mother."

As he paid his respects, his voice distant as it fought its way through all his thoughts, he caught sight of the slim form of (Luna-not-Luna): Elanor, hidden slightly behind the stone chair of his Mother. Normally, he would have nothing but smiles at the sight of his slightly withdrawn cousin, but today all he could muster was a pained grimace. It was no coincidence, but an ill omen, that she should be present at such a time. All throughout the Fey Courts, Elanor was recognised as the last true seer. In retrospect, it was only to be expected that she would be there at such a time.

"Callon... my son. Grave is the news that summons you here."

A long silence followed these words that had the two youngest in the room tensing further for each second it prevailed. The grave tone of the king was so foreboding that it was almost a relief when the Queen picked up her partner's speech.

"Black news has been brought to us from Elanor. News that, we fear, concerns you greatly."

"It seems that the ring has once again been found, and the war is soon to be restarted."

"A time of judgement will soon arrive for this realm, though it is far from the one appointed by fate."

They were speaking in tandem now, a trait that belied the anxiety such a situation was causing them. One grave voice fading smoothly into the other in a way that brought to mind a pair of flaming haired youths before the image was quickly crushed. However, even without the nervous tick of their leaders, the words alone would have been enough to spark concern.

Each realm, when created, was given a set time that it would exist for by the fates, once set, the timing should not be capable of changing except for in the most dire of situations... like, say, if the balance was tipped so far in either direction that the other side was completely eradicated. No life could exist without balance.

"I understand. What is it that you wish of me?"

The words were bitter on his tongue, stirring too many memories, but he fought to send a boyish grin to those around him anyway. Judging from the looks on their faces, he had not been successful.

"The time has come for us to intercede once again."

"A council will be held in the Elven sanctuary of Imladris in 2 moon's time, and it is vital that we send a representative."

Even as they continued speaking, Callon allowed his head to fall in resignation. It was obvious where this conversation was leading, and though he would dearly love to plead his case, to beg and scream until they agreed to send someone else in his stead, he knew that he would not be getting out of this one. Instead, all he could do was work to hide his expressions while he waited for the proverbial axe to fall.

"You are to be our presence there, and do what ever you must to ensure that the balance remains intact. Take who ever you will with you, but you must leave soon if you hope to arrive at Imladris in time."

With that clear dismissal ringing through his mind, Callon rose and turned to leave, only to be stopped by a slim hand on his shoulder. Pivoting back around, he found himself face to face with the pained countenance of his mother, noting absently the speed and agility she had displayed that he had not expected her touch.

"I have great faith in you, my son, I know that you will do what must be done in time, but please, please, do all that you can to return to us as well."

For a moment, he remained trapped in her piercing sea green eyes, watching the hidden shadows that seemed to know far more about him than he was willing to let on in that moment, but a few heart beats passed and he was able to look away.

With a small, curt nod he turned smartly once again and managed to make it all the way out of the front doors of the great monument before he was stopped once more. This time he was able to make out the soft patter of fleeting footsteps warning him of the approach even before his arm was once again caught by a small hand. This contact was only fleeting however, lasting only long enough to break his stride before releasing him again. Instead, it was the quiet, haunted voice that arrested his movement.

"There are a great many shadows in your future. They move through everything. I can see them twisting along your path, and I'm sure that you can too."

Although her words were no more than the normal whisper she deemed to speak in, the determination behind each syllable was impossible to deny, and when he reluctantly found himself turning once again to face his long time friend, Callon could not help the sigh that escaped his lips.

Though even younger than he, both of them being classed as little more than children still, Elanor had a look of steel behind those silver eyes that saw far too much. She had already made up her mind, and now that she had, there was no swaying her. She would be accompanying him, that much was clear from her expression.

Sighing once more, he raised a hand to run through his slightly longer than normal hair, the usual air of innocent exuberance completely absent from his demeanour.

"Brief Linnor and saddle your horses quickly. I will speak to Glindir. We set out dawn."

With that, he set off towards the courtyard once more, and this time, there was no one to stop him.


	3. Chapter 3

Mentally cursing the fates to every level of hell, Callon urged his steed to move faster through the under bush. He knew that he should have expected something like this when Elanor had approached him with her plan, but it seemed that a month and a half of travelling had been enough to set his fears to rest, or at least, partially subdue them. Knowing the little seer, she had probably done that on purpose. Still, the point remained that he had allowed his guard to slip and now he was being chased by some of the foulest creatures he had ever met.

Robed in black and seeming to give off an aura of death, he could have easily mistaken the wraiths for Dementors, but he knew that this reality had no such beings. Instead, they were merely the twisted souls of corrupt kings that had been bound by the magic of the ring, unable to rest fully while its energy drove them on. They were rather pathetic creatures if he stopped to think about it...

Biting back another curse, the young Fey ducked even further down so that strands of his mare's mane kept whipping up into his mouth. It wasn't the most pleasant of experiences, but at leas it meant that his head remained attached to his shoulders as he heard the blade go rushing over it. He would give his perusers one thing: they certainly were persistent!

A few muttered words were enough to persuade his mount to suddenly veer off into the denser trees (it seemed like the animal did not like the creatures either) buying him enough time to turn slightly in his saddle and raise his hand without fear of it being immediately severed.

In a voice that seemed to ring with a double timbre, he called out the shortest words of power he could think of (it had never been his best area) and, to his relief, a blinding light appeared between him and his enemy, causing them to pull back for a short while. He had hoped that he had pronounced the words correctly, but it was nice to know that he had been right.

For a few moments more he simply sat there, panting in the saddle, as he recovered from the sudden drain of the magic. Without his guidance and the fear induced by the black riders, Earin soon slowed to a much more comfortable trot, her sides heaving beneath his legs. In that moment, the forest was quiet, far too quiet, and that was why he soon pulled her to a stop. Something was wrong.

When Elanor had first come to him before their small party of 4 had departed the silver city, she had detailed a plan that had immediately put him on edge, but he had found no grounds to be able to fight her on. There was too much sense in having their small group separate themselves throughout the different realms of Arda and she knew it. But he had been unable to argue and now Linnor was well on her way to the city of Gondor, Elanor to Imladris and Glindir was off... actually he had no idea where the red head had been sent, only that he would find out if it became necessary. They were to act as a safety net if this situation, much like every single one in their mortal lives, was shot completely to hell.

He should have known, given his luck, that her suggestion for him to "circle around the old paths to help keep their origins obscured" was never going to be that simple. Things always had a habit of going wrong around him after all... though he had never expectedly to face the traitors little pets... pets that had backed off far too easily...

For another long moment he contemplated just allowing the riders to leave and just continuing on with his business. After all, even as a Fey and with all the added benefits that gave, he would still die if he got too friendly with the sharp edge of a sword... however, a sharp tug from his conscience and long forgotten 'hero complex' was enough to have him turning Earin around.

"Damn it all."

Thanks to the recent storm that had apparently passed through the area, the ground underfoot was a slick mess of mud and puddles, something he had not paid any attention to when he had been travelling before, but which now made it a fairly simple matter to track the movements of the 3 that had been hunting him. Thinking on it, it was probably how they had found him in the first place... even while moving he could still appreciate that irony.

From there began a rather interesting game of cat and mouse where he tracked the few beasties that he could while doing everything in his power to remain unobserved in his pursuit. In those 4 days, he had probably used more of his magic that he had in the last 4000 years together... it was quite a work out, and a brutal reminder that he was really out of shape.

Finally, on the evening of the 5th night, when he was beginning to think that he should just go back to his original journey, he found the true reason for Elanor sending him by this path. For the last day and a half, it had looked as though the Nazgul had been tracking some prey of their own, probably the same prey that had pulled them away from him, and now he could see them too. High up in the fading watch tower of Numenor, some idiot had lit a fire and appeared to be... cooking? Did they have a death wish?

While the enchanted light he had summoned in the forest had been enough to drive back the riders, here the little speck of light was enough to draw them in, and quickly. What were the chances that this was an ingenious trap created by a band of highly skilled warriors aiming to kill off the wraiths?

The screaming that ensued when the 5 (5? Where did the other two come from?) black figures finally began their attack was enough to dash that foolish hope. With a curse in what he was pretty sure was this reality's version of dwarfish, he quickly dismounted and all but sprinted up the side of the hill.

It took longer than he had expected for him to manoeuvre his way up the side of the mound, there was a reason the riders had all dismounted after all, and the men of old were no idiots. However, he was thankful to note upon reaching the summit that all four of the (children?) were still standing, which meant that they couldn't have been too injured. Small mercies and all that...

Without further thought he drew the sword that rested his hip and threw himself into the battle, placing himself firmly in front of the one he assumed was the youngest of the group just in time to block the blade swinging towards his neck.

It all became a little chaotic after that, the black cloaks of the attackers blending almost flawlessly into the dark night behind them and making it almost impossible for Callon to predict where the next attack was going to come from. Having to protect the kid didn't help either, it seemed that every time he managed to get a clear shot, the little one would do something to make him lose his concentration just long enough for the abomination to escape. It was infuriating and he was sure that, had he not been able to sense the voids in the life energy around them signifying the riders, they would have been dead several times over.

He was just beginning to get back into the flow of fighting for real after so long when the sound of what he assumed to be a dying animal pulled him back from his own mind just in time for him to see one of the ones he had been defending skewered by the witch king with a blade that made him flinch back instinctively. That was not a natural dagger.

Thankfully, it was then that another fighter arrived for their side, dual wielding a long sword and a burning torch to great affect. It was good timing on his part considering that the little ones had all dropped their own weapons to rush to their fallen comrade's side and Callon himself was too busy glaring at the handle of the dagger with an unrelenting hatred.

It took only a second or two more before the demons were fleeing the scene, melting back into the night from which they came as though they had never been there at all, and the other fighter turned back to the fallen (child? Dwarf? Gremlin? Seriously, what were they?) seeming to completely overlook Callon's presence. It was understandable really, considering that his travel cloak was almost as dark as those of the riders and he had yet to step out from the shadows he had been pushed into during the battle. However, when it looked as though the man was about to grab the hilt of the cursed blade, he finally revealed himself by calling out.

"I don't think you want to touch that."

When he heard the foreign voice call out in an unknown speech, Aragorn's hand immediately switched its target to the hilt of his own blade, spinning in a heart beat to have the tip pressed against the chest of the stranger. There were very few travellers who could surprise one of the Dunedain and any that could were not ones you wished to underestimate. From the corner of his eyes he could just make out the hobbits gathering in a protective perimeter around Frodo, though thankfully they did not make an attempt to step out from behind him.

Fixing his attention back to the dark robed figure, he sent them his most menacing glare. He did not have time to be dealing with this now, not with Frodo injured. If what he feared was correct, every second was gong to count.

"Who are you?"

His voice was dark, sharper than any of the hobbits had yet to hear from him, and he could hear them shift uneasily behind him, but the greater part of his focus continued to bore into the stranger before him.

"Ah, Westron it is then. Forgive my earlier slip."

The voice was young, and seemed to have the lilt of an accent eerily similar to that of the elves. It was enough that he instinctively began to relax before he caught himself and raised his guard once again growling with his annoyance.

"You have not answered my question."

There was a faint sound that he was partially certain was a sigh before pale hands slowly began to rise from the figures side. The movement was enough to shift the fabric aside and reveal the sheathed sword at the figures hip before the hood was pushed aside completely to reveal the face of a man... or more of a boy.

Now that he could clearly distinguish the figure from the night, the ranger was able to make out the slender figure of a youth nearing the end of his childhood who stood about a head shorter than himself. This new figure had a mess of dark brown hair framing a too pale face and dark eyes, but it was the smile that really caught his attention. The boy had a sword mere inches from his heart and he was smiling?

The small hands then moved down to rest in a gesture of peace on either side of his blade and Aragorn was able to make out a thin line of crimson running down the wrist of the left one. However, his observations were quickly disrupted when the youth began to speak again in his oddly accented voice.

"I mean you no harm Dunedain, I was merely pointing out that it would be unwise to touch any part of a Morgul blade, even if it is only the hilt."

It was disconcerting to hear the boy speak in such a weary tone and even more of a shock to hear the title used by one who was surely too young to remember the old tales, but it was the confirmation of his own fears that had his heart freezing in his chest. It looked like there was very little they could do for Frodo now, but he still could not bring himself to lower his sword, something about this traveller had set him immediately on edge.

For what felt like hours the two remained in these positions, staring each other down in a stalemate of wills, but it was only a few seconds more before Pipin seemed to gather enough courage to look around Aragorn's protective figure. When he saw the stranger held at sword point, he let out a happy yell that startled the ranger out of his thoughts.

Despite his best efforts, the man was not able to catch the little hobbit before he could dart right up to the stranger, a wide grin stretched across his face.

"You're the one that helped me aren't you? I thought I was imagining things!"

It never ceased to amaze him just how oblivious these hobbits could be to the general mood of a situation, but as the stranger made no move other than to grin down at the halfling, the Ranger slowly lowered his sword. If what Pipin had declared was true, then he most likely owed the youth the lives of his charges. It was only courtesy then, that he stopped threatening the boy's own.

"How do you know you are not imagining things? Perhaps this whole adventure is happening purely in a dream while you are tucked up in your bed at home?"

The response was light hearted and playful enough to break the rest of the tension that had been filling the night air, and Aragorn could tell that the hobbits were beginning to relax once again, their shoulders slumping as the excitement of battle faded. However,t heir thoughts were soon brought back to the problems at hand when the ring bearer let out a pain filled moan that seemed to hang there in the silence.

At once there was a flurry of activity as the hobbits all gathered back around their fallen friend and Aragorn moved to study the wound more closely, though he did absently note that the stranger still made no move to approach them.

The wound was thin, but cut deep into the halfling's shoulder, oozing out a clear liquid that clearly spoke of inspection. Frodo's skin, already pale by nature, had lost what little colour it had still possessed and the veins around the wound seemed to be drawn on in ink. Things did not look good for their friend.

"Strider? What's wrong? He's gone ice cold..."

Ignoring the questions from the hobbits for now, the Dunedain's quick fingers pulled out the few dried leaves of Ethalas that he carried with him at all times, pressing them into the wounds. It would do precious little to help, but it may be able to slow the poison long enough for him to find some fresher leaves. To his surprise, the noise from the hobbits seemed to stop as he pressed the leaves into the wound, but before he had time to wonder as to the reason, he noticed a thin hand pressing against Frodo's brow. When he looked up it was to meet the worried eyes of the stranger.

"There is nothing of substance you can do for him out in the wild. He needs elvish medicine, and quickly."

It was a wise observation, and one he had already made, but it still brought up several more question as to the boys origins. Still, he was right, they had no time to waste on a pointless debate. With a curt nod he moved around the side so that he could pull the halfling's limp body into his arms, though he made sure to keep an eye on their new companion at all times. The youth may not have shown any desire to harm them so far, but it did not mean that he was an ally.

He was just finished gathering together the hobbits and beginning to head back towards the path when he was once again stopped by that voice.

"It is 6 days hard travel on foot to Imladris, and that isn't even counting the burden of a wounded companion. You are being tracked by 5 of the 9 and the chances are that the others are not far behind. Even with the best of fortune you would not be able to make the hidden valley in 10 days yet your friend doesn't look to be able to last a week. Tell me Ranger, what do you intend to do?"

They were all valid points, their situation was not what anyone would call ideal, but the amused tone of voice that they had been delivered in were enough to put him on edge once again. Did the child see this as a joke, even when a life hung in the balance?

"Then what do you suggest child? We will not leave our friend here to die. Pressing on for the Elven realm is the only option he has so it is the only option we have."

His words were biting, and his tone crueller than he had ever intended for it to be, but the stress of the night coupled with the boy's countenance was robbing him of all of his patience. He had expected the youth to cower away, or at least look a little fearful (he was well aware of the intimidating figure his struck against the night) but to his great surprise, the stranger only smiled wider.

"You misunderstand. I wasn't suggesting that you leave your friend, quite the opposite in fact. I was merely going to offer you the use of my horse. Having him ride would be far faster than carrying him don't you think?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone asks for a miracle

2 days into the journey and Callon was already fighting down the urge to scream. Honestly, as an immortal you would expect that he had gained enough patience to be able to handle any number of awkward silences by now, but, truth be told, he never really was one to bite his tongue. Still, after the first couple of jokes had fallen flat at best and earned him a glare just shy of murderous from the ranger at worst, he was left simply to suffer in silence…

Now that the damned dementor knock offs had run off to god knows where, the night was actually pretty peaceful. Unblemished by any clouds the stars shone out far brighter than they ever had in his home land and the moon cast all the trees in a soft light that made him long for the silver city that he had left so recently, but too long ago. For the first time in several ages he was free to wander the lands of Arda and he would have loved to take full advantage of this opportunity, but every time that he tried to lose himself in the childish wonder that he performed so well, he was forced back the present once again by the pained noise of the Halfling slouched over on his horse.

One more shriek sounded out in the darkness, echoed hauntingly in the distance by one of their hidden pursuers was the final straw and the young Fey felt his already frayed nerves snap.

"We can't keep on like this. Every minute they draw closer and he slips further into the darkness. We need to do something!"

There was a stunned silence in the wake of his outburst but he couldn't be sure if this was from the unexpected noise in the still night or the fact that he had finally voiced what they were all thinking. Either way, the silence stretched on once again, reaching the point that Callon almost convinced himself that the whole speech was entirely in his head, only to be brought to a halt both physically and mentally by Strider forcing the group to stop.

Ignoring the hushed mutterings of the Halflings who had never quite trusted him fully, Callon fixed his eyes on the downturned face of the Ranger instead. Although never possessing the sheer skill or power in the area of empathy that Glindir did, the frustration was so thick in the man's aura that he could almost taste it. Yes, calling out the major flaws in their plan may not have been the most tactful of sympathetic manner of dealing with the situation, it had to be done. There was nothing to be gained by ignoring the situation and praying that everything would turn out well. He was just about to push the issue once again when an unexpected voice piped up instead.

"Is it true Strider?"

Sam's face was scrunched up, looking to the world as though he was expecting to be hurt, either by the answer to the question or physically for daring the ask it in the first place. Still, it had the desired effect and the Ranger finally raised his head, guilt written clearly in his eyes.

"There are ways to… slow the poison. They have worked so far, but unless Frodo receives proper care soon, there is little more we can do."

"And will he?"

If the situation had been any less serious Callon would have found himself smiling at the courageous little hobbit who, not 5 minutes ago, had been terrified of the man before him, but looked to be ready to fight him now that his master had been threatened. Such loyalty was a rare thing to find in any world and he felt his respect for the little creatures rise by several notches as they all seemed to rally to their friend's defence. It almost physically hurt him to destroy what little hope they still possessed.

"We are still 3 days from Rivendell. Normally, under ideal circumstances I would have said that we would make it no problem, but with our pace limited by a wounded party, even with him on horseback, and while being perused by even one of the nine… It doesn't look good."

All at once the mood seemed to shift and, what had once been a very pleasant night under the trees became something more fitting for a funeral. Although, he mused silently, perhaps that comparison wasn't too far off. In Frodo's case, perhaps death was the best possible outcome…

Even Merry and Pippin, the two that had held an almost irrepressible sense of good humour even while being frogmarched across the rough terrain, seemed to be drooping in place, deflating like balloons in the darkness. Conversely, the damning assessment from Callon seemed to spark new life into the Dunedain and he started scanning their surrounding with a renewed vigour. Even as the others seemed to lose their will to fight, it seemed to relocate into the ranger.

"The woods of the Elves are filled with healing plants. We may not have reached the border yet, but there should still be some to be found. If we can find some fresh leaves, they should be able to fight the poison more effectively than the dried ones we have been using so far."

His voice was soft, muffled slightly by his beard like he was talking for his own ears only but this effect was soon shattered when Strider darted up to Sam, gripping his hands frantically.

"Sam, you're a gardener, right?"

He barely waited long enough for the stunned hobbit to stutter out an affirmation before he pressed on once again, his words taking on the sense of urgency that was beginning to infect the atmosphere around him.

"Do you know the Athelas plant?"

"N-no."

"Kingsfoil?"

"Kingsfoil? T-that's a weed?"

Stood in the background, Callon couldn't help but feel like he was being swept away by the speed of the conversation happening only 3 feet in front of him. The two were in such a heated rush that they seemed to have forgotten their audience and the young Fey couldn't help but feel a little bemused as the two raced off into woods with little more than a barked order to start a fire to those they left behind. Blinking a little at the now empty space before him, Callon turned back to his remaining companions.

"What just happened?"

That drew a few muffled snorts from the still depressed looking hobbits, but that was more than he had been able to garner from them recently so he took that as a win. Moving over to Earin he was forced to glance back by a hand on his elbow.

"What do you want us to do?"

He thought for a moment, wondering if he had been the only one to hear Strider's last command before letting it go with a sigh. There was a large possibility that the two had been a little too panicked to listen properly.

"Put a fire together and get some water boiling."

He waited until he got a determined nod from Merry before turning back to his horse, only to be stopped once again by Pippin. Turning round, he found himself trapped in the wide, pleading eyes of Pippin.

"Is there really nothing else we can do to help?"

"You could always try praying for a miracle."

Perhaps it was a little short, but he couldn't quite keep the edge from his voice. The wounded noises that Frodo was making were wearing on his nerves. Something had to be done soon and currently, he seemed to be the only one with a chance of doing anything useful. Moving back over to Earin, he placed a soothing hand on Frodo's sweat soaked brow.

"Hush now little one. Just focus on the light."

He kept up the steady stream of platitudes as he gently lifted the small frame off of the horse and laid him out on a reasonably clear patch of the forest floor. The words would have meant nothing to the Halfling in his arms, but it was more of a self-soothing mechanism than anything else so he pressed on.

Once he had Frodo settled in a reasonably comfortable position on the ground, he began to run his hands over any exposed area of skin that he could find, ignoring the icy feel that seemed to snap at his own as he gently fed a little of his own energy into the trembling body. It wouldn't do much to help, but hopefully the touch of magic that he imbued it with would help in some way or another.

It took a few more minutes before Callon settled back onto his knees, panting slightly. Energy transferal was a tricky thing, something that he hadn't had to try for a long time so he probably shouldn't have even tried it then, but he just hated to feel so helpless that he had needed to do something.

"What was that?"

It looked like Strider wasn't the only one who had allowed himself to become slightly closed to their surroundings in an effort to help their charged. Even though he would deny it under pain of death, Callon was pretty sure that he let out a little yelp when the two remaining hobbits appeared to emerge out of thin air by his shoulders. As he turned to face them, he absently noticed that there was now a small fire roaring in hollow on the side of the path, obviously, tending to Frodo had taken more time than he had originally estimated.

"Just a little Fairy magic."

He had meant it as a joke, a small tongue in cheek phrase meant to lighten the mood, but judging by the half pouting, half irritated look on Pippin's face, his attempts had once again fallen flat.

"If you didn't want to tell us, just say. Everyone knows that fairies are just a children's tale."

Ouch. Being told that he didn't exist was surprisingly painful. It was a well-known fact that the Fay had been absent from the world long enough that they had passed almost beyond legend, but the denial was still a bit of a shock. This, combined with the deeply ingrained hatred of being accused of lying, meant that his response was probably a bit more biting than he had intended it to be.

"You know, you seem to be far too trusting of someone you just accused of being a liar."

The boy flinched back like he had been struck and Callon immediately felt the need to apologise. He was not the only one feeling the stress from the situation and he barely knew Frodo. It must have been much worse for the friends and family of said hobbit. He was just about to reach out to the youngest of their party when they were both interrupted by the shapes of Strider and Sam emerging from the woods, effectively distracting everyone in the clearing.

Swift as a shadow, the man was beside the reclining figure, fresh leaves in one hand and a small pot of water in the other. With sure and steady fingers he slowly pulled back Frodo's bandages and began to pour this new concoction into the wound. Noting the man's unwavering concentration, he gently reached out and pulled all of the other spectators along with him as he moved to give Strider some space. He had learned the hard way with Linnor that, sometimes, it was better to give people room to concentrate on their tasks that to hover nervously over their shoulder.

In the flickering light of the fire he could just about see the man start to press some fresher leaves into the wound and he had to act quickly to stop the little gardener from rushing forwards when Frodo began to writhe in pain. It wasn't a pretty sight, but sometimes wounds had to get worse before they could heal. Something that he really wished the hobbits could remember as he had to work hard not to receive an elbow into a very uncomfortable place.

"Hey, HEY. Stop. He's trying to help. You need to let him do it!"

It didn't seem to help at all, and soon Callon was bent over wheezing after a sharp blow to his ribs. As much as he might like these little creatures, they really were starting to test his patience. For someone with no combat experience, the little hobbit had one hell of an arm on him.

When he was finally able to hear past the breath rattling in his lungs, he was a bit surprised to notice that the clearing had fallen completely silent once again. With once last gasp, he finally raised his eyes to appraise the new situation.

What he saw was enough to have him fighting back a giggle that he would never admit to and, in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but wonder. Was it possible that this could be classed as a miracle?


End file.
